


Tales from the Promised Land

by Phalene



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Food makes everything better, Gen, Murphy - Freeform, Oneshot, Spoilers, friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 16:49:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3576777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phalene/pseuds/Phalene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immediately follows the season 2 finale. Spoilers ahead!</p>
<p>Murphy explores his new surroundings and makes a few discoveries about pre-Cataclysm Earth culture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tales from the Promised Land

"Huh, that’s some heavy shit."

Murphy sits in stunned silence for a brief moment as he contemplates the eerie vid he’s just witnessed. He’s led a pretty twisted life so far, having seen, experienced, and committed so many atrocities, but it must’ve been some truly heavy shit that drove this guy off the deep end. He’s had his own problems with the ladies, so he’s not really in any position to judge others. After all getting locked up in the Skybox as a preteen for violent behavior and building a reputation as the village psychopath within the first month on Earth hasn’t done much to boost his sex appeal. Still, this nutjob must’ve really screwed things up big time to voluntarily choose death over facing this woman.

Well, he thinks to himself, whatever happened, it’s not his problem. He may as well enjoy his hard-earned “promised land” while it lasts. There are only so many times a guy can get stabbed in the back by so-called friends and cast out to die before he learns that some shit just isn’t worth getting invested in anymore.

He knocks back the last of the whiskey in his glass, savoring the burn that spreads down his throat and across his chest. Yeah, that’s the good stuff. It’s almost as foul as that paint stripper Monty passed off as moonshine back at the Dropship. He lets out a hearty belch before committing his full attention to the critical task of figuring out this truly impressive entertainment system.

\---

He has a hard time stomaching the more action-packed, violent games. It’s particularly nightmarish when he finally works out the virtual reality system only to be thrown into a post-apocalyptic warzone with only a single rifle and a handknife, surrounded by the sounds of gunfire and terrified screams of death all around him. It hits too close to home, and he wrenches off the helmet and gloves.

Images race through his mind. Charlotte’s eyes dull, brown, and lifeless. The Grounders slicing him up until he screams himself voiceless. Stringing Bellamy up and expecting to feel vindicated, only to be filled with even more emptiness. 

He rifles through the digital catalog until he finds a harmless looking game. Katamari Smiles Forever is just what he needs, and soon enough, he is happily rolling up colorful candy and stationary to make gumdrop moons and stardust. The king, his in-game dad, is a massive dick, but it’s okay, Murphy’s dealt with worse bullies. 

There’s a moment when he seriously wonders to himself if mankind every actually developed the means to travel by rainbow. He can think of crazier things, and, with the very limited education he’d received in Confinement, he has no basis for what constitutes pre-Cataclysm tech. He gives himself enough of a headache debating whether the idea is as ludicrous as it sounds, because, to be fair, it’s right up there with the genius ideas he’s come up with himself when he could score some medicinals. The dull thrum behind his eyes convinces him to forget the whole mess. There are more important matters at hand. The fate of the solar system lies in his tiny green hands, and he’s pretty sure there’s a Cousin hiding between the giant teddy bears. Sweet. Maybe he’ll unlock someone cool, he muses cheerfully as he bops his head along to the music.  _NA-NAAAAAA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NAAAAA._

\---

The liquor cabinets and wine racks are easy enough to spot, and Murphy eagerly helps himself to them. “Don’t mind if I do.” After some time though, it becomes clear that while the kitchen is elaborate and seemingly well-equipped with an abundance of shiny buttons and mysterious gadgets, there is a distinct lack of edible food or ingredients apart from some moldy, ancient leftovers tucked away in the back of the fridge and a few dirty, equally moldy dishes in the dishwasher. 

It’s in the middle of a marathon of some sitcom series, “Friends,” when he finally figures it out. Most of the references fly right over his head, but he’s pretty sure that he’s got the critical details down:

  * “Smelly Cat” is a lyrical masterpiece.
  * Pre-Cataclysm women clearly didn’t wear bras. 
  * They were definitely not on a break.



During a holiday episode, Monica, the hot-but-crazy chef chick, is cooking what looks like an amazing feast. All he can do is whimper in hunger and wish loudly for turkey. 

_Ding._

Murphy pops up from his lazy sprawl as a heady scent fills the air. Eyes wide, he licks his lips and follows the smell. Lo and behold, what appears to be a large drumstick has appeared in one of the kitchen’s many metal boxes. It glistens under a warm yellow light and practically calls out to him, ‘Eat me!’

It’s truly glorious when Murphy discovers the magic food box. He nearly weeps from joy as he stuffs himself full of food, naming anything he has ever remotely heard of.

Well, he’ll be damned if this isn’t the promised land after all.


End file.
